


Thirst (I Can't Escape You)

by lysandr_skavada



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Desert, I hope?, Innuendo, M/M, No Dialogue, Off-Screen Murder, Pre-Slash, Sexual Tension, sand, so much sand, thief!noctis, thirst of multiple varieties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:21:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24978325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysandr_skavada/pseuds/lysandr_skavada
Summary: Usually, the thief in Noctis would have taken the first opportunity to rob such a man, but in his present state he could barely figure out where the dagger he’d stolen was, let alone how to wield it. If he survived long enough to find his way back to civilisation, he’d figure that out later.(A distant voice in Noctis’ mind reminded him that if someone could afford to ride through these parts with such wealth on display, clearly they weren’t someone to be trifled with lightly, but Noctis hadn’t been very good at listening to that voice in recent years.)aka Noctis' badventures in the desert
Relationships: Ardyn Izunia/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 7
Kudos: 32





	Thirst (I Can't Escape You)

**Author's Note:**

> So this was a quick(?) writing exercise as part of the discord server I just joined. There was a specific prompt that I didn't really fulfill here (though some of the themes may be similar) so I chose to looking at this as me practicing trying to write sensual/suggestive content ^ ^;
> 
> I'd like to dedicated this to the Man of No Consequence discord server, who supported me through the writing process and give a special shout out to Phoenix, our zealous and benevolent overlord. This wouldn't have been possible without any of you.

The desert seemed to stretch on forever.

He’d been walking since the sun rose. Ever since he’d fled that camp – his captor’s throat slit, the body left for ants and scorpions to pick over – Noctis had trudged onward across the dunes. His feet were raw from walking the blistering sands and patches of his skin that weren’t cover by the stolen cloak he wore glowed red under the sun’s unwavering eye.

Worst of it all was the thirst.

At first he’d been fine; he’d taken the water-skin (along with a few other provisions) he’d found on the bounty hunter’s corpse before he’d fled the scene, assuming he’d be set until he reached the next settlement. However, as he’d soon discovered, the bladder had been all but empty, with the old skin holding barely enough water to last him to mid-morning, let alone into the true heat of the day. They must have been closing in on a well, for the man he’d killed certainly hadn’t been inexperienced – couldn’t have been if he’d managed to track down Noctis the way he had.

When he’d realised this, Noctis had seriously considered turning himself around, considered crawling to the well if he’d had to, but he’d been awake enough this morning to see his captor release that pigeon that had been carried with them. Watched it fly east, a coloured cloth bound to its leg. Whatever had been waiting for him at the well, it hadn’t been the promise of salvation.

A gust of wind picked up momentarily, buffeting him with stinging grains of sand from the dune he was climbing. Earlier, the air would have provided him with some relief, drawing some of the heat from his sweltering skin. But Noctis had stopped sweating over an hour ago, so all it managed to accomplish was to further cement the unbearable dryness that had overtaken his body.

Cresting another dune, the wayward thief felt a small sigh of relief pass his lips.

Not water, but better than nothing.

Noctis scrambled down the slope, creating small avalanches of sand in is his wake. He stumbled as he neared the bottom, barely escaping falling face first to the ground before he managed to right himself. The steady throbbing in his head pulsed louder as he stepped towards the husk of a burnt-out cart half buried in front of him. The fact that the cart was here meant he was a little closer to the road than he’d like, but at this rate it didn’t matter if he was discovered or not; the desert was just as likely to kill him as anyone he was running from.

Noctis let himself slump down beneath the shade provided by the burnt wooden frame. He was hot, and tired and he could feel precious drops of fluid weeping from the cracked scabs of the rope-burns marring his wrists and ankles. Had he had enough water left to cry, the loss of it would have made him weep too.

~*~*~*~

A sound in the distance stirred the thief from his involuntary slumber. He sat forward, blinking to try and clear some of the grittiness from his eyes with little success. It was bright, the sun still blazing in the sky, but hanging much lower than when he last remembered seeing it. Or at least he thought it was, the dust of the desert around him seemed to have crept into his mind whilst his slept, filling his head with a thick pulsing mass that was for his thoughts to penetrate.

Noctis was once again disrupted when the sound came again, much closer this time.

The chocobo that stopped in front of him was massive, easily one of the largest Noctis had seen in his life. Its plumage was glossy and black, some feathers shining blue beneath the rays of the sun. Noctis couldn’t help but wonder what its secret was. Surely it must be as hot as him, both of them clad in dark colours that soaked up the relentless warmth beating down from above, but unlike Noctis the bird looked unbothered by such things, holding its head high even with its rider’s loose hold on the bridle.

The rider themselves was as fine as the steed. Though wearing a rather non-descript travellers’ cloak over the rest of his robes, the metalwork on the scabbard of his sword, along with the jewels decorating the saddle he sat upon gave the man away. That and the stain of his hair; dyed a deep pink-red – the same shade as the sacred wines poured upon the altars as part of the celebration of Etro in the city of Noctis’ birth.

As he stared, dazed and a little awed Noctis watched the stranger slowly dismount and come to stand in front of him.

When he spoke, his voice was full and resonant, its lilting timbre swimming through the parched streams of Noctis’s consciousness.

He had no idea what he’d said.

But it sounded good.

A hint of embroidered cloth visible through a gap in the man’s heavy cloak caught Noctis’ eye. The stitch work of the gold and white flowers was impeccable, even through the lens of his heat-addled brain. Usually, the thief in Noctis would have taken the first opportunity to rob such a man, but in his present state he could barely figure out where the dagger he’d stolen was, let alone how to wield it. If he survived long enough to find his way back to civilisation, he’d figure that out later.

(A distant voice in Noctis’ mind reminded him that if someone could afford to ride through these parts with such wealth on display, clearly they weren’t someone to be trifled with lightly, but Noctis hadn’t been very good at listening to that voice in recent years.)

Noctis was startled out of his scheming by a calloused hand taking hold of his chin, yanking him up to his knees whilst another pressed something stiff and firm to his flaking lips.

The water that flowed into his mouth was warm and thick with mineral salts that coated the inside of his mouth with a metallic film.

It was also the most divine thing he had ever tasted.

A type of desperation unknown to him before washed over Noctis. Without his consent, one of his hands captured his saviour’s wrist in a harsh grip, preventing the disappearance of the much-needed water. He drank deeply, swallowing the bitter fluid down in great pulls of his sore and sorry throat. 

In his eagerness some of the liquid escaped, rivulets of it streaming down his chin and leaking from the corners of his mouth to be soaked up by the cotton of his shirt. He wanted to lament to the waste but the sensation of the blessed drops on his baked skin was its own sort of deliverance.

The slow swipe of a thumb against his jaw reminded him of the person who was bestowing this gift upon him, and Noctis let his gaze drift upward toward the stranger’s face.

When his eyes met the pair above him it was as though the sun itself was staring back. He could feel the man’s intent licking over him like tongues of flame, an unforgiving heat burning its way through Noctis like a force of nature. In the face of such intensity the thief felt as if something inside himself was beginning to melt.

As the flow of water began to slow, the stranger smoothly shook Noctis’ grip from him and took a step back. The fresh wave of desire that rippled through Noctis had him fighting himself not to scramble after the man and demand to be allowed to suck every remaining drop from the ‘skin held in those surprisingly rough hands.

(The _waterskin,_ of course he meant the waterskin).

The man spoke again, and just as before Noctis didn’t hear a word of it – too caught up in the throb of his pulse as it echoed through his ears and skull (surely the heat-stroke should have started to ease by now). He watched on as the stranger packed the canteen into a bag that hung from the saddle horn and climbed back onto his patient steed. Noctis let his eyes slip shut for a moment as a small thread of disappointment wove its way through him. For some reason he’d been expecting something a little more – though what that more was, he really couldn’t tell.

When he opened his eyes again, they widened in surprise.

The chocobo stood a little closer, enough to cast the barest strip of shade over him, and from its back the rider held his hand outstretched. When Noctis looked at the man’s face, the smile that graced the stranger’s lips was edged with challenge.

Open palm or no, the expression hidden in the corners of the man’s stretched mouth told him what this really was – the poised claws of a predator, waiting to sink into his flesh the moment his back was turned. If Noctis were sensible he’d turn around and walk back across the desert sands, away from what was surely a trap set to snap shut around him.

No one had ever accused Noctis of being sensible.

He gripped the stranger’s hand tightly and let himself be pulled onto the back of the great beast. Once aboard he let his head rest upon the coarse, white cloth of the man’s cloak. His skin was still hot and he could feel the beginnings of sweat forming along the back of his neck, and yet – even though he wasn’t much higher off the ground, Noctis could swear there was a cool breeze blowing from up here.

With a sonorous laugh and a press of the stranger’s heels, their mount lurched forward, onward across the harsh sands, toward whatever awaited them beyond the horizon.  
  


It was okay.  
  


He had some practice with escaping.

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaand, that's a wrap.
> 
> And if you're wondering, Lys? Did you just have them ride off into the sunset?  
> Yes, yes I did. (^ ^; cliches are cool, alright)
> 
> I will possibly (probably) write a sequel to this from the perspective of Ardyn (one that will probably have some dialogue in it!) but I'm really not sure when that might be.
> 
> Thanks for reading, dear people, and feel free to comment with any thoughts/questions. I'm happy to chat.


End file.
